


Lifetimes

by CaptainDeryn



Category: The Lord of the Rings Online
Genre: Children of Characters, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light Angst, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-02-08 04:29:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21470089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainDeryn/pseuds/CaptainDeryn
Summary: A working collection of short, non linear stories involving my LOTRO characters Wulfwryn and Raenor and moments of their life. Similar to my fictober collection, Moments In Time.
Relationships: Female Human/Male Elf, female half elf/male half elf
Comments: 14
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I usually take prompts/requests for these two over on my tumblr (@captainderyn) if you have something specific you would like to see with these two!

Round, pale eyes blinked at Raenor owlishly form the shadows of the alcove, Faewryn holding impossibly still as if that would fade her from sight. 

He knew that she could see him and that she knew that he knew where she was. They were both well aware and yet still she refused to admit her game was no longer in her favor. In fact, as he watched, she ever so subtly shifted herself further back into the shadows. 

Finding new places to hide around the courtyard and open hallways of the citadel was her new favorite game while they waited for Wulfwryn to be released from her guard position for the evening. She always seized Raenor’s hand with a cry of “_Atar! _Find me!” before commanding him in a forceful voice intimidatingly similar to her mother’s to close his eyes and disappearing. 

There had been several times where Wulfwryn had found him before he had found their daughter, raising a brow at his seemingly aimless wanderings. The delicate lines forming around her eyes would crinkle as she smiled at him, telling him to watch and learn as she hunted down Faewryn’s hiding spot with ease. 

For now, when he let his eyes drift past her, starting to walk by, humming a inquisitive, “Now where might my little _harmahin _be?”, a small giggle came from the shadows. 

He paused, backpedaling a step. “Hmm was that the growl of a little _harma _that I heard?” Crouching down, he grinned at Faewryn, “I’ve found you.” 

Though she had her hand clamped over her mouth as if to muffle another sound, her eyebrows drew down over her eyes in an impressive look of frustration. 

“I thought this was a good hiding spot.” she said petulantly, letting her hand drop away from her face to reveal a pouting lower lip sticking out. “I haven’t used it before.” 

Telltale footsteps were headed their way down the corridor. Raenor held out his hand to her, wiggling his fingers. “Perhaps today was just my lucky day. I’m sure you’ll win again next time. But I hear _ammë...” _

“_Ammë!” _Faewryn parroted back in an excited gasp, scurrying out from the shadows and snagging Raenor’s hand as she tore past. “Come on!” 

Chuckling, Raenor let himself be pulled around and after the little girl until they found Wulfwryn. As soon as she was in sight, Faewryn took off at a dead run to slam into her mother’s legs, already chattering about her day with excitement. As he caught up, he heard her saying, 

“_Atar _found my hiding spot today!” 

Wulfwryn raised a brow, looking up at Raenor in amusement. “Oh did he now? Well,” she carded her fingers through Faewryn’s dark hair. “I’m sure it was _quite _a clever spot. I’ll show you some new places tomorrow if you’d like.” 

“Yes, please!” Faewryn clapped her little hands together, practically bouncing up and down until Wulfwryn wrapped her daughter’s hand in hers and leading her back to Raenor. 

“For now,” Wulfwryn said, pausing to press a kiss to Raenor’s cheek. “It’s time to go home.” 


	2. Candlelight

Night fell dark and quiet across Rivendell’s valley, draping everything in a soft darkness. Wulfwryn could see lamps and hanging lanterns cast some warm light into the cool shadows through the windows. 

Their room was lit only by the carefully flickering light of candles, wax dripping in rivets into the metal pots or scones that they sat in. Sighing, she stretched, arching her back against the soft, mattress beneath her before turning onto her side. 

Through half lidded eyes and her cheek propped against her hand, she took in Raenor, languidly draped across the chaise lounge pressed against the wall with his harp in his lap. The candlelight played off his cheekbones, sharpening them in shadows and warm orange highlights, dancing off of the polished and etched wood of his instrument. Sweet music drifted through the quiet air as his fingers worked the strings, his voice layering over it like honey, 

“O hon ring finnil fuinui, A renc gelebrin thiliol,” 

She didn’t know of what exactly he sang, only that it was enchanting to watch him weave a story with song. The way his hands crafted the notes so lovingly or the cadence of his voice wasn’t something she thought she’d ever tire of. 

He must have felt the weight of her gaze, as his eyes turned to her, his music fading away, “Beren and Tinuviel,” he said in answer to her unspoken question. “Have you ever heard it?” 

“Not before now,” she admitted, tracing her fingers over the pattern of the downy-soft duvet bunched beneath her side. “What is it about?” 

Setting aside his instrument, Raenor slid off of the chaise, walking over to her. When his hand slid beneath her jaw, drawing her up into a kiss, she didn’t protest. His hand lingered on her cheek as he sank onto the bed next to her, brushing her hair back from her face. “It is a story about a love purer than anything.” 

“Oh,” her voice sounded small to her own ears, distracted by the tenderness of his touch. “Will you tell it to me then?” 

She felt him smile against her skin as he pressed a kiss to her cheek before sinking into the mattress next to her and taking her into his arms. With her head on his chest she listened to his voice rumbling through his chest, weaving together a story that sounded achingly familiar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beren and Lúthien is a really beautiful poem and story and one that I stumbled across again while trying to find something elven for Raenor to sing. Of course then, reading through it, I realized that there are a handful of similarities to Wulfwryn and Raenor :') So here we are.


	3. Too loud and/or collapse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Implied injury

“Don’t do this to me,” Raenor’s own voice sliced through the cool air around him, too loud in his own ears. It grated through his throat, harsh, “Wulfwryn!” 

Her disappearing into shadows, chasing the remains of the scraggly band of orcs that had fallen on them, blades flashing bright in the moonlight as they camped for the night, the memory of his voice calling out to her to stay back—all of it roared through his mind, clamoring for his attention.

They had been careful, oh so careful. No fire had burned beneath their rocky little outcropping, even when the cold had started to bite. They’d kept their voices to hushed whispers.

The rustling of the branches as she had staggered back into their clearing, sword hanging limp at her side. One step more, then she had stumbled, two steps more and her knees had buckled. 

It was the dead of night, the full moon his only source of light. Beneath his hands, resting over the awful spot where he swore a crude orc shield had connected with her chest, there wasn’t the sturdy metal of her armor, but rather the soft fabric of her hauberk. 

“Wulfwryn,” Pleading now, his breathing ragged where hers was still and roaring in his ears. Panic was seeping through the cracks forming in the mask of a healer, time ticking slowly down in an hourglass the more he failed. 

He just needed to hear her breath, strong and steady instead of short and ragged. He needed his hands to be clean of the dark viscosity of her blood, for her voice to tell him he worryin far too much again.

Not this, not now. Not like this. Magic burned down his arms, the energy snapping brightly around his hands without the gentle glow that usually preceded his healing. Desperation fueled him now, the suffocating awareness of time both slipping through his fingers and dragging slower than molasses crushing down on him.

It was bright enough that he had to squeeze his eyes closed, willing his magic to heal, willing it to fix the damage that he hadn’t been able to prevent. He couldn’t lose her.

He couldn’t.


	4. Unsent Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a routine elimination of orcs around Minas Tirith, Wulfwryn is wounded. Uncertain of what is happening, panic brings her wanting Raenor more than anything and she begs for one of her most loyal guards to send a letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mention of injury, animal death, and general angst
> 
> Prelude to chapter 7 (Melinyes) from Moments in Time

Even with the fall of the wretched tower, the evil had yet to seep completely from Arda’s soil. Gondor’s leads were still plagued with the vile creatures that had spilled from Mordor, terrorizing the fair land’s people. 

As the sun spilled over the horizon it drenched Wulfwryn and the loyal members of her guard in it’s red light, highlighting the remnant shadows of the orc camp below. 

Pulling her horse up, Wulfwryn turned to her guards, “We’re going to wipe out this group, clean, easy, and simple.”

Metal jangled on metal as horses shifted nervously, nostrils flaring at the acrid scent of orc. 

Around her, Wulfwryn’s guards drew their swords. stone faced. None of them loved these raids--the sense of vengeance for loved ones and land lost had long since filtered out. These raids weren’t a choice they made willingly. 

“We’ve faced worse.” she tried to keep her voice bright. “Trust me. They won’t know what hit them.” 

“Of course they won’t.” One of her younger guards, snorted. “They never know what hits them when we unleash you on their ranks.” 

Wulfwryn urged her horse forward, readjusting her helm. “I’m going to take that as a compliment. Let’s see each other to the other side of this, hm?” 

“The other side.” Her fellow guardsmen echoed, and in a thunderous roar that would make the Riders of Rohan proud, they charged into the fray. 

The sun sparked bright off the flashes of swords, the metal of armor. Orcish shouts rang harsh across the air--agonized cries, gurgling noises cut off, and curses from her own men all mixing into one din. 

Wulfwryn’s sword swung light in her hand, wielded like an extension of her arm. It was madness, bodies swaying all around them like swarming ants festering into unattended bread. 

It was only the ground she felt connecting with her back when her horse’s legs went out from under them with a squeal. All the breath was knocked from her lungs, the heavy weight of her horse crushing across her legs. 

She saw a flash of a blade above her, a foul, crusted dark thing, and the fouler face behind it. As if delayed through deep water, she squirmed to get away. She didn’t feel her armor buckle, or hear herself make a sound. 

Sometime later, voices were shouting above her. Hands were hooked under her arms, pulling her back. Awareness rocked back through her with sharp clarity, and then she heard herself cry out. Somewhere an apology echoed around in her mind--spoken or thought she wasn’t sure. The pressure blissfully released only for a moment as the hands under her arms readjusted and they pulled again, trying to free her from the crushing weight pinning her to the ground. 

Her vision went gray, the world fading in and out enough to make her dizzy. 

The ride back to Minas Tirith was a haze of pain and hooves clattering onto cobblestones. Being pulled from a horse like a rag doll, her armor being stripped and the cold hands of a healer. 

When finally the commotion died down and enough of her wits had been returned to her that she could see the ceiling above her without it swaying, Wulfwryn tried to take a deep breath. 

Pain shot through her chest, and her hand flew down to find the scratchiness of gauze beneath her fingers, already starting to dampen again. 

It was enough to bring darts of tears into her eyes and a yawning hole seemed to open in her chest. What had happened? What was happening? Only now that she was no longer relived to see the healers go she realized that they had told her nothing. Or if they had, she hadn’t heard. 

She wanted Raenor, as the chill of fear started to ice over her heart. 

From her peripheral she could see that her oldest friend, Fredrick had lingered. A wild urge--a need--overtook her and when she came close her hand shot out, seizing his sleeve. 

Wulfwryn clutched at Fredrick’s jacket, soaked with sweat and blood. Her hands shook badly enough that she could barely get a firm grip, her fingers refusing to close strongly enough. “You need to.” She insisted on a gasp. “Tell him, please.”

“We will when there’s information to tell.” Fredrick ’s voice was placating, what you would use on a fussy child. His hand laid on Wulfwryn’s shoulder, trying to still her. His expression was pinched, the lines around his eyes deep. 

With a frustrated noise, Wulfwryn locked her fingers in his collar, heaving herself up. The motion was enough to rip a pained cry from her but still she spat, “No you tell him _now_.”

She wanted—no, needed—him here. She wanted the warmth of his hands when he used his healing magic, the comfort of his arms around her even if his healing still left pain tingling through her. Not this cold loneliness, wracked with pain that brought her knees curling to her chest and tears to the corners of her eyes.

Never had she so strongly, selfishly regretted telling him that he should return to Rivendell instead of staying with her. 

If the orcs were to get the better of her—she could feel the pain, she had seen what orcish blades had done to countless soldiers before her—she needed to hear his voice again and be able to tell him how much she treasured him. Not through the impersonal, distant nature of ink drying on paper.

And truly, if she was being honest, she wanted him there to hold her, whether through or into the darkness.

But they weren’t listening to her. The healer had barely acknowledged her demand for Raenor and even her oldest friend and mentor in the guard that had remained with her was brushing her away like she was already delirious.

She wasn’t there yet--her mind was still _sound. _Even if her demand was spanning from Gondor to Rivendell. 

Lashing out was sapping her energy and she felt her grip slipping. Fredrick eased her gently back down against the pillows, brushing away the tears that streaked down her cheeks.

“Please listen.” She pleaded. “Please.”

The long wearied sigh she was met with seemed to crackle with withheld emotion. Fredrick went over to her desk, rattling through the drawers. Until he came back, Wulfwryn squeezed her eyes closed and pressed her fist over her mouth, muffling a quiet sob. 

She was certain Fredrick heard, though as he eased himself into a chair pulled over to her bedside table he didn’t comment. Instead, all he asked was, 

“What do you want me to say?” 

Wulfwryn took a deep, rattling breath, and started to speak, eyes fixed unfocused, unfeeling, on the ceiling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next in this arc: Chapter 7 of Moments in Time
> 
> Good Ending: Chapter 13 of Moments in Time  
Bad Ending: Chapter 17 Moments in Time


	5. Kiss At Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Implied character death & mentions of grief

Darkness had remained Raenor’s constant companion throughout the night. Darkness of both the night, with the moon’s cold light streaming in through the partially covered window, and the inky darkness of dread. 

He could feel the ache building in his head, the heaviness of his body setting in with each passing minute. Empty potion bottles rattled on the night stand as his foot brushed against it. 

Wulfwryn’s breathing too, remained a ragged constant. Ragged and sharp, as though no matter how deep a breath she drew in it wasn’t enough. It had shallowed out now, easing in a way that did not ease the dark fear winding like a noose around Raenor’s mind. 

“_Fasta mahta, meldanya_.” he murmured. His voice grated through the oppressive quiet. 

_Please fight, my beloved_. 

Wulfwryn had been fighting for as long as he had known her. Fighting for the Gondor she believed in, for her king, for the Free Peoples. Wrestling her own demons day in and day out, fighting for herself, for their love, their daughter. 

Fighting, always fighting. 

There was only so much fight one soul could take. 

Yet still she kept fighting for him at the insistence of his voice, at the warm touch of healing magic that did nothing to heal the damage of a heavy orcish maul. 

Kept drawing in one painful breath after the next, through the evening previous and into the night. Until finally, when the world was beginning to blur in front of Raenor’s eyes and he could draw no more magic from the wells deep inside of himself, he rested his hand against her cheek.

Her skin was feverish beneath his touch, slicked with sweat even as chills wracked her body, with its frame she always thought to be able to withstand anything, beneath heavy blankets and pelts. 

_“Lertaidë tuvidë este rainëye.” _Raenor bent his head, pressing his lips to her forehead. “You’ve fought long and hard _meldanya_.Rest now.” 

As if he had released a weight from her unconscious mind, Wulfwryn sighed against his lips as he pressed them to hers with a gentleness given to fragile glass. He pulled away quickly, before the hot sting of his watering eyes could fall to her skin. 

Soft purples and golds of dawn bled into the dark celestial pool of the night when Raenor raised his head completely, staring out the window as the new day rose to life. 

By the time the last star had been overtaken by the sun’s rays, Wulfwryn was gone, carried into whatever waited for her by the sweet notes of Raenor and Faewryn’s voices. 

“_Namárië ammë_.” Faewryn’s voice quivered and without a word Raenor took her into his arms, rocking her gently as their daughter began to shake. 

In the absence of Wulfwryn’s breath, Raenor’s own chest seemed to seize, catching until he felt like he would suffocate against the crushing weight in his lungs. 

_You may rest now_ he had whispered to her. _Find peace and quiet now_. But how could he let her go where he could not follow? How was he meant to stay here, haunted by the empty space where she was meant to stand?

A blur of condolences, of cairns and silken shrouds and tombs passed him by. To see her, motionless and still and draped in her captain’s uniform was too much to bear. Once he squeezed his eyes closed he could not open them again until Faewryn’s hand found his, tugging him from the pit of grief of those who felt they knew her. 

Raenor could not bear to go to the dank, dark place where Gondor entombed their dead, locking spirits where they could no wander. 

He felt himself fading, the tether binding him to this world cut without warning. Days that had passed in a blink with Wulfwryn’s fire burning them up slowed to painful minutes ticking by into excruciating hours. 

It became excruciating, his heart splitting and splintering until he could hardly find all the shards. 

“I miss her.” Raenor breathed, the words barred behind the lump in his throat. And yet…“I don’t want to leave you.” 

Faewryn–oh his little _harmahin_, grown into her own now, with a strength in her that had made her mother so very proud to the last–looked up at him with such resolution overlaying the sadness that it broke his heart, shattered as it was, into a thousand more pieces. 

“I know _atar_,” she said. Her hand was gentle against his shoulder. The gleam of sunlight reflecting off of water blurred in front of his eyes when he blinked. Water lapped against the short and the dock, bumping the boat against the wood with a soft, rhythmic _thump, thump, thump_. “I miss her too.” 

Around them was a fast-fading activity. The last of Rivendell’s elves were packing their remaining supplies beneath the decks of the gleaming grey ship. It’s silver floors called to Raenor’s tired body and broken heart to ease down. To let the sides support his weight and stare into the water until Valinor’s gleaming shores welcomed him home. 

Perhaps Nárissë would meet him on the docks. What was the exchanged that had passed between them, all those years ago? When he’d left Rivendell for the last time, before the glow of eternal life had been leeched from the valley and the elves’ music had played its last note. 

_Raenor found it increasingly hard to hold her eyes and turned back to his horse, fixing the girth, fiddling with the stirrups. “I’m not giving up everything. I will find you all again, even away from here.”_

_“No, you won’t.” Her voice dripped with misery and truly, what did she believe that made her sound that way? She was shaking her head at him when he found himself unable to keep from looking back, her brows drawn tight together, expression bitter. “You won’t come back from her. I know you won’t, the grief will take you, easy as any sword.”_

Was he coming back from Wulfwryn? No, he finally decided, Nárissë had been right, there would be no coming back from the wild woman with the radiant smile and zest for life. 

“_Atar_,” Now Faewryn’s voice did crack, her voice wavering. “Please, you have tried so hard to stay. I don’t want to watch you fade away.” 

After a soft breath, Raenor turned to his daughter and drew her close. Her head settled against his shoulder, and while she did not cry her eyes were shining with unshed tears when she looked up at him. 

As he forced himself to step back, he cradled her face in his hands. She looked so much like her mother that it twisted like a knife into his heart. Who knew if he would see her again. If she would ever take a ship to Valinor as other elves fled from Middle-Earth’s shores? Or perhaps she would forgo the long years of watching the world pass by, take on instead the mortality of her man. 

Yet she was so insistent, pleading warring with grief in her eyes and finally he rested his forehead to hers and with a soft breath said, “Be good, I love you little _harmahin.” _

Though watching Gondor’s white shores fade into specks did not ease the pain wracking him, the gentle push and shove of the waves lulled his grief into dormancy and for the first time since Wulfwryn’s breath had stilled, he breathed in fully again. 


	6. Nightfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years after the loss of her mother and a year after the loss of her father, Faewryn continues the tradition of a candlelit vigil in remembrance. While the night is lonely, Eldarion waits by her side and tries to ease some of the pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of parental loss and grief

Night over Minas Tirith fell slowly, draping itself with languid grace first across the Pelennor Fields before draping itself then over the white walls of the city. Against the gleaming white stone the sunset painted red, purple, and blue hues, turning the city multi color. 

Then when the darkness finally settled around the city, never over it for Minas Tirith seemed to dispel darkness itself, it became bright like the moon itself. 

At this hour not many were out on the streets. In the top circle, in the Pavillion of the White Tree, Faewryn sat on the wall overlooking the city. Sitting on the wall was a row of small lit candles, some burned nearly down to the wicks, some near freshly lit. Closest to her two more innate candles burned. 

“Are you not cold?” 

Faewryn shook her head, “Not really, no. I don’t feel it.” 

Still, when Eldarion’s hand brushed across her shoulder, an exasperated sigh left his lips, “You always lie, you’re practically frigid.” 

Glancing over at him as the fur of his cloak settled softly against her skin, Faewryn offered him a half-smile. “And yet you still offer me your cloak. You’ll be cold now.” 

Eldarion sat down next to her, swinging his legs over the wall. Their feet clunked together and an almost-inaudible breath of a laugh escaped her. It earned her a sly grin and her friend shimmied closer until they were pressed together at the thigh and shoulder. 

“I won’t be cold. I wore it because I knew you’d have forgotten something for nightfall, and besides there’s room enough for two beneath it.” 

His eyes drifted across Faewryn to the candles flickering at her side. Her eyes followed his and the dancing flames caught in the sudden shine in her eyes. All of his humor fell away, his arm slipping behind her to rub between her shoulders. Faewryn pressed closer to him. 

“It looks like a lot of people left candles.” 

Her noise of agreement sounded watery to him and she turned her head into his shoulder, “Lots stopped briefly. Had some things to say.” Her eyes flicked up to his for a moment before she buried her face deeper into his shoulder. He could feel her breath tickling his neck and pretended that he couldn’t feel the heat of the first few tears dripping onto his skin. “I think a lot of it is because of the guard captain and your father.” 

Tracing idle shapes on Faewryn’s back, Eldarion hesitated on exactly what he should say. What was someone to say on the two-year anniversary of a mother’s death and the year anniversary of a father’s fading? What were you to say when you cared so deeply about that person that you couldn’t bear to hurt them more?

“My father wants them remembered.” he murmured slowly, carefully feeling out each word to see if the careful path he walked on would shatter beneath his feet. “As friends and heroes in their own right.” 

In the quiet night air Faewryn couldn’t hide her sniffle. It was a long moment before she spoke and her voice was thick with emotion. 

“I thought it would get easier.” She pulled away just enough so that she could look at him. “Its been _two years_. I’m okay most days now and yet...” Looking to the stars, she blinked rapidly. “And yet now it’s fresh all over again and it _hurts_.”

“I know Fae.” At a loss for words--for all his skill with words in diplomacy he was woefully untalented in words of emotion--he trailed his hand to rest around Faewryn’s shoulders. They were shaking slightly, shuddering with each inhale she tried to steady, underneath the thick material of his cloak. “What can I do for you?” 

A soft whine broke free from her, “I don’t know...just...hold me?” 

“I can do that.” he said softly. Her night long vigil would be hours of dragging grief, if him being by her side would ease that pain at all then here he would stay. 

He released his hold on her long enough to slip off the wall and settled on the ground and Faewryn followed. Sitting on his lap, she wrapped her legs around his waist and nestled her face back in the crook of his neck and shoulder. Her arms twined around his neck. 

Eldarion let his arms fall around her waist, pulling her close, and rested his cheek against the top of her head. Above them the candles flickered, a testament to grief, remembrance, and honor. 

As the night wore on, the flames winked out one by one until they were all swallowed by the night. Faewryn did not budge until the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, and through it all Eldarion stayed. 

He was always going to stay. 

It was easier to just stand with her wrapped around him, Eldarion decided when dawn awoke in earnest, she may have been asleep. She had long since gone quiet and didn’t stir when he began the walk back to her home. And yet as he wound through the stirring streets, he heard an ever so soft, “Thank you ‘darion.” mumbled into his neck. 

“Always, _melethel.” _he murmured in return, “Always.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently this is a thing now?? Uhh...let me know y'alls thoughts?


	7. Soak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Eldarion/Faewryn...can't exactly say I'm sorry :P

“You don’t need to go through all of this effort.” Eldarion repeated, yet again for the several-th time it seemed, only for it to fall on deaf ears. “You spoil me.” 

Faewryn looked over her shoulder, a brow quirking up. The steam rising from the bath she leaned over was curling the short pieces of hair around her face into springy ringlets. “Well then it’s a good thing I’m not just doing this for you.” 

Dumping in her last jar of petals, the scent of calendula joining the rich scent of rose, lavender, and chamomile rising thick in the air, Faewryn trailed her hand through the water once again before straightening. 

“My father used to make this mix for my mother after she’d come back from training weekends or fights.” She didn’t bother pulling her robe back together, instead letting the light, silky fabric slide from her shoulders and pool around her feet. “She swore by it.” Her beckoning hand kept him from letting his eyes drift over her form, as did the cacophony of muscle aches and pains when he moved. 

“I believe her words when I was old enough were that it was ‘practically orgasmic.’“ 

“The expectations are high then,” Eldarion’s smart remark was lost when he groaned, scrunching his face up as he eased into a standing position. It was what he earned for being young and reckless. Believing he was above the hand of an experienced guard and a shield had put him back in his place right quickly.

He was partway through the excruciating process of removing his trousers--when Faewryn had dragged him into the bath removing his shirt had been what he had managed without losing too much of his dignity. The trousers had been a bridge to cross later. A bridge that had approached far too quickly--when suddenly Faewryn was right in front of him. 

Without wasting a moment her hands undid the lacings of his trousers and yanked them down around his ankles. She planted a foot on the remaining fabric, nodding at him to step out of them. “Must I do everything for you?” 

Shooting a wounded look her way, Eldarion shook the last of his trouser-leg from his foot. “You didn’t have to do anything--I was getting there.” 

Her smile was bright and far too amused for his dignity’s survival. “Fine: must I do everything for things to be done in a timely manner?” 

“Only because you are so impatient.” Eldarion hobbled over to the edge of the bath, Faewryn trailing right behind. Sinking his foot into the water, he couldn’t help but hum in pleasure at the warmth already seeping into his pained muscles. 

As he lowered himself into the water, petals brushing against his skin, until he was completely stretched out, he made a much more pronounced noise. The heat of the water and the rich scent of the herbs was practically the lock and key to all the tension he was holding in his muscles and he let his head fall back against the wall. 

A tinkling, bell-like laugh preceeding Faewryn stepping into the water. “That good, hm?” The bath sloshed as she lowered down between his legs, her back against his front. As the water encased her too, her own pleased purr tailed the end of her words. 

She sank down deeper into the water into her head was resting on the middle of his chest, her chin just above the water. With her eyes closed in bliss, Eldarion couldn’t help but laugh. 

“That good.” 

**Author's Note:**

> harmahin--'Little-wolf' in Quenya; Raenor's nickname for Faewryn  
harma: 'Wolf' in Quenya; variation of Faewryn's nickname  
Atar: 'Father'  
Ammë: 'Mother'
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
